


Hell hath no fury, Bandito.

by Peachy_Bumm



Category: Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Death, Graphic Description, Graphic Description of Corpses, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Major Character Injury, Other, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 06:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20304958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peachy_Bumm/pseuds/Peachy_Bumm
Summary: ---Bad times---





	Hell hath no fury, Bandito.

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning there may be triggering elements to some and I urge you to turn back now and do not read this piece! There are scenes of gore, violence, and death! Please, take caution when reading!

They always tell you it's better to be the wolf among sheep. The way you conceal yourself and keep your emotions in tact right before you strike. It was the same way of learning while he did time, prison was nothing compared to what the world had taught him, and if he didn't hate every single goddamn second of it... The world had tore apart any little bit of balance and sanity he had. Nights plagued with night terrors, fits of panic at the slightest sound of anything resembling a bullet being released from the barrel of a gun, the smell of copper noting him that blood had been spilled, it was enough to make him want to crawl out of his skin. Through all of the shit he had been through... nothing would prepare him for the sights he experienced every night since he relapsed. It would start the same way each and every night...

Brown eyes would fly open, his body in a cold sweat and hands trembling. Breathe, he had to remember to breathe, Bandit was no coward and he had been through this enough times to know the steps. Like clockwork, once his body had come off the fight or flight experience he would toss the blankets from his ragged form. Dress himself in his usual jeans, t-shirt, leather jacket, socks, and finally his shoes. This was all to familiar and he was ready for it to happen all over again because no matter what he could never stop it... Never seem to get a grip on his own reality and state of mind to turn around his dreams for the better. Feet moving with such a heavy and sluggish pattern to them, it was because of that god awful smell; the smell of blood and smoke. Wood burning mixed with the intense waft of rotting corpses. It was rotten, caused him to stop at the door frame and empty his already dry stomach. Fluids spilling on the ground while he wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand. Wide eyes horrified to see the first body in sight. He can tell just from the outline of it, it's the tallest out of them in the GSG9, Blitz. The most level headed of them laid sprawled on the floor crushed by debris of whatever was left of a plane and the building they had been in. The horrified look let's Bandit know that his fellow German was well aware and cognitive when his death happened, he suffered much to Bandit's dismay. His eyes told it all... glossy and looking like straight Bandit as if he were the very soul who did this to him, like he murdered him in cold blood. That cold sweat came back, the chill crawling up his spine... he wasn't usually the time to feel so sick over the sight of death; but it got oh so much worse. With the sound of what hit his ears like a choking croak the other member of the GSG9 turned his distorted, blood, twisted form and began to crawl. Oh yes, this corpse was crawling at the older like he held some type of grudge. "You could have saved us, Dom... I trusted you." No... the guilt piled up like bricks being laid over a building, weighing his feet and body in that same spot only feet from where this haunting creature sauntered closer to him, eventually standing to drag his form even faster. "You could have done something! You froze! You were paralyzed when we needed you! You assisted them in killing us! You're a murderer!" If he could run... he would. Bandit would turn and try to find the nearest room to run for to escape the barrage of hurtful words being tossed at him like a ray of bullets. But he was there, just like each and every night. And just when he thought it would end when he closed his eyes in sheer panic to tell himself it was only a dream, when he would open them again the vision would be gone because that's all it was... It was a V I S I O N! Blitz would never say those things to him. 

The smell got so much worse, when honey brown eyes opened the almost blue bloodied rotting face of his teammate was only inches from his own. Hands coming to clasp on to his trembling form. The smell was unbearable; it flooded his nostrils which caused him to wretch and jolt in such a way that shoved the body from his own. Finally able to regain himself trembling hands grabbed for the nearest thing possible, a broken piece of shrapnel from the plane. Gripping it tightly enough that caused his own palms to be cut and bleed, Bandit felt him swing with such a force and when the slicing noise hit his ears and the red crimson liquid spilled on his flesh... he knew it was over. The way he watched the body of his old comrade crumple into a mess on the floor with the metal jutting from his torso... Never had his feet carried him so fast from a scene, even when running from the cops. Stumbling through the rest of the wreckage he coughed and wheeze, arm flying up to cover his mouth and nose. Eyes squinting to make out the next form in front of him through the clouded room... he could already tell with how cold it got and the new form that stood in his way... It was IQ. Unlike Blitz... she was pinned to a wall, her body more intact than his but her injuries far more painful than what he can imagine. She was lifeless, just like the vision before her. Shards of clouded glass jutting from her form. Bandit didn't hesitate this time... his feet carried him closer, heart aching with every fiber of his being. Even though he acted cold on some days, was a prankster on others... this was his new family. People he had grown close to in his division. They were the best of the best, unique in their mindsets and helped keep one another stable. The way the glass crumpled let the signals send to his brain, that the nightmare was far from over. Her voice was shrill, choked sound even more so than Blitz. Skin pulling from the shards that pinned her to the wall, her legs carrying her in such a spastic way to him that she could wrap her arms around him in a rather painful embrace. The sharp pin like pieces piercing through his coat and pants. Once again he was frozen in place, left to hear her ramblings about how he abandoned them. No surely IQ would be different, she was the one who kept them all together. Like the sister between three brothers that held them like glue to a broken toy-- "Why did you run and leave us... We were a team, Dom. You were supposed to be there when we needed you... Marius... he counted on you. We all did and you left us all to..." As it progressed the room seemed to grow so much colder, so much tension and weight thrown on his body as if he was sinking to the floor and he was. Dropping to shaky knees and being forced to look up at the she demon standing in front of his features... he wanted to scream, wanted to tell her it wasn't true, that he didn't mean it! Then he felt it... the piercing feeling of a sharp object piercing his insides, her hand pushing with more and more force on the shard of glass by the second. Burying it harder and further in his gut. The feeling of wanting to scream was stolen from him with the blood and bile filling his mouth from his throat, spilling out and down his chin on to the floor to form a small puddle. No, he couldn't let it end here... if he let this be the end... the dream would simply restart, would cause him to suffer the same two visions over again. With what little bit of energy he had in his body, a grip around her arm pulled her down so he could wrap both arms around her form and cause the other end of the jagged piece to jut out of her disheveled form. A small gasp escaped from the lips of the vision, what he could only wish wasn't truly his teammate. 

It wasn't until the body seemed to stop moving that Bandit could cause himself to pry her off of him, toss her body on the floor and rise to his full height. A hand coming to hold at the wound where the jutting piece of glass was still sitting nestled oh so painful between his gut and ribs. He should be bleeding out, no he was meant to suffer in this hell. Meant to take more and more pain and sanity deprivation than he could have ever imagined pushed on to someone. There was still one more... up the stairs. One foot in front of the other carried his wounded form up the stairs to the last sight... and to always to his surprise, he could never get over seeing the last sight in front of him now. Leaning against the walls of the corridor laid the limp body of his closest friend, Jager. A rather large hole in his helmet from a bullet to the head, the thick protective glass on it shattering and splintering in the man's face. It looked like a sick game, like someone planned to leave this body here for him to see that the smallest of them was tortured and left screaming for the rest of his teammates, like he was searching for help and he was so terrified when he died. It was always more unsettling to see him than either of the other visions. Bandit took a seat across the hall from the corpse, forcing himself to look at how the membrane and bone of his skull coated the wall and floor under and behind him. Belly split open, all of his innards on display in his lap. This was always the worst one... and when that voice reached his ears he felt the need to stifle a choked sob. Because it was horrid.. Jager sounded so... distorted and unlike his own self. The way his head tilted up and his balaclava was torn and exposing his sliced cheeks all the way to his ears... this wasn't an accident...this... this was murder. "Dom...? You came back? About time... was starting to think you really were the rat that Monika and Elias painted you out to be... You remember that time, you put a firecracker in my breakfast one morning...? You and James had it all planned for weeks... You remember don't you? How it nearly took off my hand and exploded so close to my mouth? How stupid you called me for not checking my food sooner while Gustave and Julian babied me in the infirmary all while you got to sit back and laugh about it all.." Bandit hadn't noticed the form crawling closer to him, practically almost pinning his own body to the opposite wall. That same rotting putrid smell causing him to wretch and cough, blood splattering to pain the face only inches from his.. not that it mattered he was already a bloody mess anyways. "I have a way to get you back for all those months ago... It's going to leave you in pieces!" There was always the part the older German seemed to forget... inside that slit belly, buried in whatever was left of his fellow GSG9 operative was an active composition explosive... Bandit could only sit back with a smile on his face, a slow and heavy arm slung around the other to pull him closer only to mutter the last words... "Es tut mir leid, dass Sie alle gelitten haben und ich nicht da war..."

A gasp of air filled his lungs and before it could register Bandit laid in the floor trying to regain himself, look around the room. The smell gone, his eyes able to make out the sleepy lazy forms of his teammates all sitting up in their beds at the commotion. Honey brown eyes blinking back the tears when he could see each and every one of them was here, they were normal. It wasn't until he felt a set of soft hands holding on to one of his own to calm him down that he realized he had been suffering from a panic attack. Breathing ragged, drenched in sweat, and a little lightheaded. IQ was the first by his side ushering him to calm down and to get him to breathe normally. Jager sat next to him on the floor, other hand clasped over the others while rubbing soothing circles along his bruised and beaten knuckles. The last of them Blitz had fetched a bottle of water from the little fridge they kept in the corner, returning and leaving enough space between him and the older to he didn't feel completely crowded. He was so happy to see them all... so relieved to just have them here. They always asked the same questions of what triggered this one: what had him in such a panic, did he need to talk about it, should they tell Six and Harry about it? Instead he would dismiss it, just enjoy the feeling of all of them so close, and when he finally came down from an insufferable fit of the shakes and clammy sweats would he sit in a pile with them all. Each of them leaning against him in some way just to let him cry it out... he's not one to shed tears... but for them. Well hell... he'd die for them and suffer through the same hell over and over again just to know they were safe in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for making it through the fic, sorry it's another sad one. You guys are awesome for supporting my work. You can find my other fics and content on my Tumblr!
> 
> Also I apologize if the German is absolutely inaccurate and garbage I used google translate, if it doesn't translate properly it's meant to say: "I'm sorry you all suffered and I wasn't there"


End file.
